


In Floral Wreath

by dateburykill (nickelodeonguts)



Series: BTD Bites [1]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Ambiguous Supernatural Elements, Character Death, Horror, Implied/Referenced Woundfucking, Mental Instability, NSFW, Necrophilia, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelodeonguts/pseuds/dateburykill
Summary: There was one time where Lawrence did. This is why he doesn’t do it anymore.





	In Floral Wreath

Lawrence’s lungs ballooned, his chest heaving over his visitor’s body. He previously bathed her (almost as an apology), letting the ice graze her skin the same way lagan concurs with the sea before sinking to the bottom as derelict. He now had her sprawled out on his bed, a towel cradling her dew-dribbled body. This must have been how the prince felt upon discovering Sleeping Beauty. He kissed every inch of her skin, his hot tongue lapping at the beads of bathwater. He stopped at her core, feeding on her abdomen and venturing south for hidden flesh. He felt a sticky warmth awaken in his mouth, and he pulled back, stunned.

“I’m sorry!” Lawrence pleaded. “I didn’t know—I just, it’s just—you’re so _beautiful_ and—!”

He stopped as if cut off by a harsh slap. In his frenzy, he forgot who he was talking to. She could never respond or flinch away from him; but if her body was reacting this way, even in death…

Lawrence nervously probed her depths with his index finger. He kissed and played with her budding floret before going deeper. _Nnf, so tight,_ he thought (maybe gasped in a shallow breath). Would she split in half if he tried anything? A better question was, would he necessarily object to it?

 _We’re both rotting_ , Lawrence decided. _We can fall apart together_.

Lawrence aligned himself just right, picturing the river as though he was ready to lie down and let the dull, gray water consume him and fill his lungs with life.

“I promise,” Lawrence said, “not to hurt you.”

Her heat was overwhelming. He tried not to finish early but having such lovely velvet envelop him made it hard to maintain control. He held onto her hips for the extra support. He pushed and prodded, not feeling any blatant rip or a trickle of blood. In fact, it was so slick and hot, it was like—

It was then that Lawrence felt her shift underneath him. She groaned and grunted, trying to pull herself out of the tide of fatigue. In any other situation, she would look like a girlfriend waking up from an adorably disheveled sleep. But instead, she stirred and moaned in pain, her eyes wide as if possessed.

“No, no! Please, let me help you.”

Lawrence reached out to touch her, but she resisted him. He pulled her by the hair and made her face him; she screamed until he rested his lips onto hers. The combination of her muzzled pleas and the upstairs neighbor demanding they be quiet agitated his pace. He pulled back, a dipping line of saliva connecting them further.

“I’m almost done. Just let me do this, please.”

She whimpered as he continued. She thought that she could feel the thick, hooked hands of death creeping into her skin. At times, his eyes were as blue as pool water, cascading down his cheeks. He grinned, but it did not look like a natural smile; it looked like a gash that spread across his face and bled an unusual black substance. Horns sprouted from his head, and with the combination of his long, flaxen hair, she was curious enough to touch it.

She moved her hand above his head dumbly, and he responded by taking and pressing it to his cheek. He leaned into her soft, dimpled skin, sighing and tonguing between each of her fingers.

That was when she screamed again.

This time, Lawrence covered her mouth, wasting no time slapping his hips against hers. Her eyes bulged like a moth attracted to a lamp, and she mewed against his hand. The mysterious black liquid now evaporated into wisps of furnace smoke, and those tearful streaks further dripped down his bony cheeks.

“Was this the chance you mentioned?” Lawrence asked, his voice angry but unsurprised. “Did I do the wrong thing? Again?”

His hand slid to her neck, and the other joined in clamping down on her throat.

_“What makes you think you even deserve a chance?”_

She made little effort to fight back; she whined and cried out in defeat, hoping he would finish before she’d drown in the river. Maybe then he would realize what he was doing and let her go, either apologizing profusely or tossing her aside like scraps off his plate. Either outcome would have been much welcomed, but as her weak writhing slowed to inconsistent twitches, she would lie down in the river and accept her fate.

Lawrence came with a haggard groan, tensing before soon landing after his intense high. He eventually relaxed and peeled himself off of her. The bruises on her neck almost looked like hickeys. Between her legs existed a punctured hole, as though he stuck it in a fresh, bloody wound; the thought made him shudder in the afterglow.

“You were warm,” Lawrence whispered. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 4th of July! Enjoy a one-shot of Lawrence being an unstable twat.
> 
> The title is a reference to Peter Paul Rubens’ 1620 painting, Madonna in Floral Wreath. With the plot of the fic and Lawrence’s fixation on foliage…yeah, take a wild guess what _that_ is supposed to be a reference to.
> 
> I was also partially inspired by WrensAO3’s fanfic, “Rotten Fruit,” on her tumblr (read it here, if you'd like: https://wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com/post/168937657117/rotten-fruit). She wrote it so well that I wanted to take a stab (heh) at it myself.
> 
> This looks like the beginning of a beautiful series of fucked-up BTD fanfics, so I hope you enjoy what I’ve written, and I hope you have a good day, holiday or not!


End file.
